Bound in Blood and Magic
by HarlequinDreams
Summary: Ave Surana, an elven mage raised and trained in the Circle Tower of Ferelden is called to defend the land from a terrible threat


**Bound in Blood and Magic  
**_Prologue _and _The Harrowing_

Neira Surana, an elven mage raised and trained in the Circle Tower of Ferelden is called to defend the land from a terrible threat.

All characters and situations are copyright Bioware and appear in the game Dragon Age: Origins. I have taken a few liberties but am generally making a novelization of one version of the game.

* * *

Prologue

The Tower of Magi stood proud in the middle of Lake Calenhad, named for the king who had united the warring tribes of Ferelden into one nation. At so late an hour, the ferry was closed, the inn dark, and the water still. Only a few windows of the tower had light in them, the rooms of Senior Enchanters mostly.

Every apprentice was asleep, or they were supposed to be. The quiet but distinctive clinking of plate armor caused no rustling of blankets as a large man entered the dormitory for the female apprentices, so the templar charged with keeping watch over the wing felt satisfied that they were all sleeping. He approached the proper bunk.

Carefully, he touched the girl's should before placing his hand over her mouth. One had to be cautious when waking a mage, even an apprentice. She woke with a start and thrashed for a moment before she saw clearly. He removed his hand.

"Ser?" she whispered.

"Get dressed." Even though he kept his voice down, its power could not be denied.

As the apprentice rose and fetched her robes, the man watched. He sometimes forgot, surrounded as he was by priests and his fellow templars and even human magi, how very small elves actually were. This girl had to be nearly a foot shorter than the smallest female initiate and half her size. Still, he reminded himself, the magi had magic at their disposal. What did size matter to them?

When the girl had her blue robe fastened over her white nightgown, she looked at him again with wide, pale eyes. He knew she'd figured out his purpose, but she still waited to hear it. She wouldn't believe it until he said it.

So he spoke. "The Harrowing waits."

* * *

The Harrowing

Neira Surana climbed each set of stairs with no verbal complaint. She followed her templar guide through the halls of the third floor, forced to take three steps to every one of his strides. She wondered whether his pace was intentional.

It wouldn't surprise her.

But that was cruel, she decided. Why was she so quick to assign malice to him? More likely, his training made him brisk, and he didn't consider that a mage might struggle to keep up. Elves were a rarity, so of course he would further forget to account for her size.

He led her in silence up another flight of stairs and down another hallway.

A few templars were still awake, and they paused in their card game. Each one looked Neira over as she passed and then they spoke amongst themselves. She looked over her shoulder to see each of the four men set some coins on the table.

Were they—? No. Surely not.

Her guide stopped at the stairwell and motioned to her. Silently, the elf mounted the stairs. The templar followed.

Beyond the heavy door, a vast, empty room waited. Not quite empty, she noted. A stone basin with an intricate base stood in the center of the room. An aged man in the green robes of the First Enchanter, head of the Circle Tower mages, bowed his head in greeting. Beside him, Knight-Commander Gregoir, the head of the templars of the Tower, watched her every move. Behind him, two other templars waited.

Neira smiled when she recognized one of them. Cullen was older than she was, four years her senior. He looked very grave, and his expression drained her of whatever small happiness his presence had offered.

She turned her attention to Knight-Commander Gregoir as he stepped forward. His seriousness, at least, was no surprise. He was always solemn, after all.

"'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.' Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin," Gregoir quoted.

Neira bowed her head. To Gregoir, it would appear respectful. He need never know the gesture hid her rolling her eyes. How many times had she heard those words from the Chant of Light? The priests and templars loved to remind her—and every mage, really—that it was mages who had caused the Maker to turn His gaze away from this world. She bit her tongue for the thousandth time to keep from voicing what she thought of their interpretation of Andraste's words. It helped knowing both Cullen and the First Enchanter were there.

"Your magic is a gift," Gregoir said, and she nearly snorted, "but it is also a curse," not that was more like it, "for demons of the dream world—the Fade—are drawn to you, and seek to use you as a gateway into this world."

Neira sighed. She knew, even as much as she disliked the Chantry and their templars, how real the threat of demon possession truly was. She'd never seen an abomination before, but she'd heard the stories of the twisted, deformed beings that mages turned into when a demon settled into them.

"This is why the Harrowing exists," First Enchanter Irving spoke as he stepped up beside the apprentice. "The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your own will."

"And if I fail?" The elf cast her gaze up, seeking some comfort, but she found none. Cold realization swept over her as she remembered the whispered stories of apprentices who never returned from their Harrowing.

Knight-Commander Gregoir confirmed her fears. "It will turn you into an abomination and the templars will be forced to slay you."

Over his shoulder, Cullen shifted, and Neira felt emboldened by his sympathy.

"This," Knight-Commander Gregoir's voice recalled her attention, and he gestured to the waiting basin, "is lyrium: the very essence of magic and your gateway into the Fade."

First Enchanter Irving touched her arm in what Neira felt was a paternal way. Whatever family she'd once had, she had been taken from too long ago to remember them. Every child who showed signs of being sensitive to magic was taken from their homes to be raised and taught in the Circle Tower. Really, she supposed she was more fortunate than some. She had no memory of her life before to inspire regret or resentment.

"The Harrowing is a secret out of necessity, child," the First Enchanter said, his voice as warm as it could be under the circumstances. "Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded, so shall you."

Neira managed to smile.

"Keep your wits about you and remember the Fade is a realm of dreams," he continued. "The spirits may rule it, but your own will is real."

"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter," Knight-Commander Gregoir snapped.

The young man smile at his annoyance, sure First Enchanter Irving had given her some sort of hint he wasn't supposed to.

Knight-Commander Gregoir sighed and gestured to the basin. "You are ready."

She drew in a deep breath. For a moment, she considered asking for the Rite of Tranquility. It might be worth it—sacrifice her magic, connection to the Fade, and all emotion in order to not risk her life. However, something in her refused to let her speak. She'd studied hard, excelled well beyond most of her peers. She deserved to be a full mage.

Her belief in herself reaffirmed, Neira stepped toward the basin. She dipped her hand into the shimmering silver-blue liquid and drew some up. A sound filled her ears—almost a song. The room darkened, but she felt her feet remain firm. She wasn't fainting. A bright flash made her wince and shield her eyes.

When her vision cleared, Neira looked around. She stood alone, all signs of the Tower wiped away. Toppled pillars and gateways leading into open air surrounded her, and a statue, at least a hundred feet tall, stood as a sentinel. Two blades extended from his hood, and his arms were blades as well. Something about him unsettled the elf, and she looked for anything else to focus on.

The Black City provided this distraction. She saw the structure in the distance. Was that a cry she heard, carried from it across the ocean of nothingness that separated her from it? Or merely her imagination? Were the Tevinter mages trapped there, rather than cast out in twisted shapes as the Chantry taught? Or had their attempt to take the Golden City, the seat of the Maker as the Chant of Light said it once was, trapped the Maker there, rather than driven Him away from the world? Was it He who cried out?

The apprentice mage stood in awe of the Fade, her task forgotten. A hundred voices, too quiet to understand, whispered in her ears. One, she felt sure, said her name.

Pain coursed through her, breaking her reverie. Alert, Neira looked around. Down the single path open to her, a small ball of light hovered in the air. As she watched, the ball glowed brighter and unleashed a spark. She avoided it this time but felt the heat of the attack. How could something in the Fade hurt? Another attack kept her from considering it too deeply.

She concentrated and unleashed a bolt of light from her hands. It struck the wisp, and both vanished. Neira sighed in relief. Her magic still worked in the Fade.

Thoughts of the demon she had to face fresh in her mind, the elf made her way down the winding road. At nearly every turn, another wisp lurked. Two managed to singe her robes and face with their electric attacks before she could dispatch them.

"Someone else thrown to the wolves. As fresh and unprepared as ever." The man's voice made Neira freeze. It came from everywhere, loud and clear, but also seemed somewhere whispered right in her ear. His voice was indignant, even angry. "It isn't right that they do this, the templars." She saw a mouse on the ground, and the voice seemed to somehow emanate from it. "Not to you, me, anyone."

Neira stared. Still, her mind turned over the situation. She was in the Fade, a world of spirits and demons and dreamers. Why shouldn't a mouse speak? He certainly seemed sensible. "No," she muttered, "it isn't right at all."

"But they keep doing it, don't they?" Neira felt comforted by the anger and bitterness with which he spoke. "We get treated like rabid dogs, and we let them get away with it!" He sighed and lowered his voice. "It's always the same. But it's not your fault. You're in the same boat I was, aren't you?"

She began to speak but forgot the questions on the tip of her tongue as the mouse began to glow. It changed and grew. When the light faded, the mouse was gone and a man stood in its place. He was tall and handsome, dressed in the red robes of a mage.

"Allow me to welcome you to the Face. You can call me… well, Mouse."

Neira smiled. "That's your name?" she asked, almost laughing. The man's pained expression made her regret her tone.

"No," he replied, sorrowful rather than angry. "I don't remember anything from… before." He let the words hang in the air for a moment before he looked back at the apprentice. Satisfied that she appreciated the gravity of the situation, he went on. "The templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They figure you failed, and they don't want something getting out." He paused to bow his head. "That's what they did to me, I think. I have no body to reclaim." He looked up again, and the urgency in his voice was undeniable. "And you don't have much time before you end up the same."

Neira drew in a sharp breath. She heard her name again, somewhere distant. Was it Cullen's voice? Yes. She was sure of it. Was he trying to warn her? He would. She looked at Mouse. "How long do I have?"

"I… I don't remember. I ran away, and I hid." He shook his head. "I don't know how long."

Neira frowned but knew she couldn't blame him. She had no idea how long she'd been here or how long she'd taken before the first wisp had stirred her into action. Would she even know if Knight-Commander Gregoir had ordered her killed? She looked at Mouse and bowed her head. "I'm sorry. I can't even imagine…"

"Don't waste time with that talk," he answered. "You don't want to end up like… this."

He would know, Neira decided. If she were already trapped in this realm, Mouse would know and would have told her. He wouldn't encourage a doomed soul.

"There's something here, contained," he said, "just for an apprentice like you. You have to face the creature, a demon, and resist it, if you can." He smiled, but his eyes were worried. "That's your way out. Or your opponent's, if the templars wouldn't kill you." Anger returned to his voice. "A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the Fade."

"Why?" Neira asked. It took all she had not to shout at him. He hadn't made this test, but no one else was here to yell at. "Why do this to us?"

"A question for those in the tower. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to ask." Mouse paused before he sighed again. "Maybe someday, so will I." He let his words sink in before he offered encouragement. "There are others here, other spirits. They will tell you more, maybe help." He seemed to consider something before adding, "If you can believe anything you see."

Neira frowned as she looked down the path. She could either continue on or wait to share Mouse's fate. "Thank you," she managed. At least she knew more now.

"I'll follow," Mouse said, "if that's all right." He offered her a small smile. "My change was long ago, but you… you may have a way out."

She managed a smile for his sake. "It'd be nice to have company."

Mouse changed his form again and scurried alongside Neira as she walked. When she went around a curve, he warned, "A dangerous spirit is not far. Don't go near it unless you're ready to fight."

The elf paused when she came to a ring of fire. The path continued on, but something in the air carried a sense of dread that threatened to overwhelm her. Mouse's voice stirred her, wrapping about her and yet right in her ear.

"That is where the test will take place. The creature can be anywhere, but it manifests there," he told her.

Neira forced herself to continue on. She wondered if she was quivering or if she only felt she was. When she looked at her hands, they seemed still. She looked up and froze when she saw a nearly transparent man in full Templar armor. This, she knew, was the spirit Mouse had warned her about. But just behind him were weapons, and Neira felt too curious to hurry by without a word.

As she neared it, Mouse muttered to her, "This spirit never seemed equal to its name, to me."

Even more curious, Neira approached.

He didn't seem surprised to see her. His voice echoed, as Mouse's did, but he was confident in his speech. His words Neira heard as if they came from him, some distance in front of her, rather than in her ear. "Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see." He towered over Neira and looked down at her. "Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill, than to be sent unarmed against a demon."

She smiled faintly. In a simple test of skill against her peers, she knew how easily she would succeed. "I didn't really have a choice," she offered.

"Indeed." He was almost dismissive in his reply. "The choice, and the fault, lies with the mages who sent you here." He seemed to look her over. "That you remain means you have not yet defeated your hunter. I wish you a glorious battle to come."

Mouse's warning about time rang in her ears, and Neira thought she heard her name again, but she was too curious to press on just yet. "What kind of spirit are you?" she asked.

"I am Valor, a warrior spirit. I hone my weapons in search of the perfect expression of combat," the spirit replied.

"Your weapons?" Neira repeated. "Did you make all of these?"

"They are brought into being by my will," Valor answered. "I understand that in your world, mages are the only ones who can will things into being. Those mortals who cannot must lead such hollow, empty lives."

Neira smiled at him, a thought creeping over her, a hope taking root. "Would one of these weapons affect the demon?"

Valor laughed beneath his helmet. "Without a doubt." He gestured to the weapons. "In this realm, everything that exists is the expression of a thought." He looked at her, gaze hard. "Do you think these blades be steel? The staves be wood? Do you believe they draw blood?" She didn't reply, and Valor went on. "A weapon is a single need for battle, and my will makes that need reality."

She nodded. First Enchanter Irving's advice about her will in the Face came back to her. She met Valor's eyes.

"Do you truly desire one of my weapons?" Valor asked. Neira nodded. "I will give one to you… if you agree to duel me, first. Valor shall test your mettle as it should be tested."

Neira watched him. She was no warrior, but without a staff as a focus for her magic, she knew a demon would be impossible to defeat. What choice did she have? "I agree to your duel, Valor."

"As you wish, mortal," Valor answered. "We battle until I am convinced you are strong enough to slay your demon. If you do not convince me, I will slay you." He watched her. "Are these rules understood?"

Neira frowned. How like a Templar. Any excuse to kill a mage. "Yes."

"Our duel begins now," he cried. "Fight with Valor!"

He drew his sword and struck before Neira knew what was happening. The tip of the blade cut her cheek, and warm blood spilled out. She threw herself back. Valor let out a war cry, and the mage concentrated. She held out her hand and encased the spirit in ice. As he struggled to free himself, she released a bolt of light. It struck his chest, and she drew herself up to attack again.

"Enough," Valor said. "Your strength is sufficient to the task."

Neira watched as he turned away from her. Could spirits die? What would happen if she attacked again?

He turned back to her, and she abandoned the thought. Valor held out a staff made from two pieces of entwined wood. A crystal at the top served as a focal point. Nothing Neira had ever seen in the Circle Tower were half as beautiful. "It is yours."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"May you find glory in all your achievements, mortal."

Neira bowed her head and turned away. As she stepped away from Valor, Mouse took his human form. Wordlessly, he cupped his hand over her wounded cheek. Warmth spread through her, and she felt the flesh knit itself back together.

If she failed, would she remain here? With him? That might not be too awful, really. She smiled at him until he resumed his smaller form. Then, she shook off thoughts of failure and followed the path up the hill.

"Be cautious," Mouse said. She smiled at his voice, even if his tone was grave. "There is… another spirit, here. Not the one hunting you, but still…"

Neira stopped. She could go no further—the path ended at a creature. It was almost bear-like, but flesh and muscle were exposed, only patches covered with fur, and sharp spikes protruded from its shoulders and back. It stirred when she approached and raised its head.

"Hmm… so you are the mortal being hunted?" It sounded tired, even half asleep. "And the small one… is he to be a snack for me?"

Mouse took his human form and touched her arm. "I don't like this. He's not going to help us." He looked at her. "We should go…"

The creature rested its head on its massive paws. "No matter. The demon will get you eventually, and perhaps there will even be scraps left."

"What kind of spirit are you?" the elf asked.

The creature hauled itself to its feet as Mouse spoke. "It's a demon. Maybe even more powerful than the one chasing after you."

"Begone," the creature said. "Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal. I tire of you already." It made a sound of irritation before lying down again.

"Sloth?" Neira repeated.

"I am a spirit of Sloth," it said wearily, "a creature of the Fade… unlike yourself." It yawned. "Mortals are ever the visitors here. Still, you serve your functions. Only the mortals like yourself are truly annoying."

"Mortals like myself?"

Sloth sighed. "You are… aware. A mortal with power and will. The sort of creature that some spirits… hunger for." It raised its head again. "I might be inclined for such a meal, myself. It would be interesting to see the mortal world through your eyes, live inside your form… but I am disinclined to begin such a struggle."

Neira's eyes narrowed, and she gripped her staff. "Try it."

"Do not anger me," Sloth growled. "My inclinations can change."

The mage took a step back and hesitated. She lowered and softened her voice. "I have to battle a demon. Can you help me?"

"You have a very nice staff." Sloth yawned again. "Why would you need me? Go, use your weapon since you have earned it. Be valorous."

Mouse hesitated before he spoke. "He looks powerful. It might be possible that he could… teach you to be like him."

"Like me?" Sloth asked. "You mean teach the mortal to take this form? Why? Most mortals are too attached to their forms to learn the change." He raised his head to survey Mouse. "You, on the other hand, little one, might be a better student. You let go of the human form years ago."

Mouse shifted uneasily. "I… don't think I'd make a very good bear. How would I hide?"

"You could help me face the demon," Neira interjected. She smiled at Mouse.

"I am quite powerful in this form… when I wish to be," Sloth said with a yawn.

"I… welcome the opportunity, if it is my choice," Mouse said. He looked at Neira. "The mages in the tower are quick to volunteer others, as you well know." Neira gave a sympathetic nod, and Mouse smiled. "I'll try," he announced with a new boldness. He looked at Sloth. "I'll try to be a bear. If you'll teach me."

"That's nice." Sloth yawned again. "But teaching is so exhausting. Away with you now."

Mouse sighed and turned to Neira, defeated. "I told you he wasn't going to help us."

The elf frowned. She took a step toward Sloth. "Mouse wants to learn." She smiled. "I won't leave you alone until you teach him."

"You wish to learn my form, little one?" It spoke as if it had not heard the mage. "Then I have a challenge for your friend: Answer three riddles correctly, and I will teach you." It stretched. "Fail, and I will devour you both. The decision is yours."

Neira sighed. "I accept your challenge." Why couldn't this just be simple?

"Truly?" Sloth sounded almost interested. "This gets more and more promising." It got to its feet. "My first riddle is this: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people, mountains without land. What am I?"

Neira thought. Something that made mention of those things but was only a representation. "A map," she said.

Sloth made a disappointed sound. "Correct. Let's move on." He yawned. "The second riddle: I'm rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you'll use me well. What am I?"

She smiled. Thank the Maker for all the scoldings she'd heard others receive over the years. "My tongue."

"Yes, your witty tongue. Fair enough. One more try shall we?" It tilted its head. "Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I'll amuse you an entire eve, but, alas, you won't remember me. What am I?"

Neira closed her eyes and repeated the riddle inwardly. She nodded at a thought. "A dream?"

Sloth snorted. "You are correct. Rather apropos here in the Fade, no?" It stretched again. "But you've won my challenge and proven yourself an amusing distraction. So, I shall teach you my form." It locked eyes with Mouse, and his body changed.

"Like this?" Mouse said. He looked at Neira. "Am I a bear? It feels… heavy."

She felt relieved he looked like a proper bear, rather than the twisted thing Sloth was.

Slother seemed less than pleased. "Hmm. Close enough. Go, then, and defeat your demon… Or whatever you intend to do." It sat once more. "I grow weary of your mortal prattling."

"Thank you," Neira said, but it ignored her. She touched Mouse's bear head, and he followed her in his massive form. With Mouse at her side and Valor's staff in hand, she felt ready for anything. She retraced her steps and heard stirring as she approached the circle of fire.

When the mage stepped into the ring, a creature made of fire drew itself up from the ground.

"And there," Mouse whispered as he took his human form, "is a spirit of rage."

Rage laughed, the flames parting to form a kind of mouth. "And so it comes to me at last. Soon I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You shall be mind, body and soul."

"If I lose," Neira replied, readying her staff, "the templars will still cut you down." It was too late to be afraid.

"They are welcome to try!" Rage laughed again, and its body turned toward Mouse. "So this creature is your offering, Mouse? Another plaything, as per our arrangement?"

Mouse covered his face with his hands. "I'm not offering you anything! I don't have to help you anymore!"

"Aww." Rage chuckled darkly before going on. "And after all those wonderful meals we have shared? Now suddenly the mouse changed the rules?"

"I'm not a mouse now," he shouted back. "And soon I won't have to hide! I don't need to bargain with you!"

"We shall see…" Rage growled.

A fiery hand, complete with claws like iron, struck at Neira. She jabbed the staff forward to protect herself as Mouse took on his bear form. He growled and bit at the flames while Neira encased Rage in ice. The demon broke free and knocked her off her feet. Mouse struck at it with a massive paw, and Neira threw another spell.

Rage cried out and vanished. Mouse took his human form and helped the trembling girl to her feet.

"You did it," he cried. "You actually did it!" He smiled at her. "When you came, I hoped you might be able to… but I never really thought any of you were worthy."

Neira frowned at him. Quietly, she spoke, "The ones before me. The ones you betrayed. What were their names?"

"What?" Mouse shook his head. "They were not as promising as you. It was a long time ago." He hesitated. "I… I don't remember their names." Mouse sighed. "I don't even remember my own name." He looked around him. "It's the Fade, and the templars killing me, like they tried with you."

"Anything to survive," she muttered, shaking her head.

"I am what the Fade has made me," Mouse replied. "Am I to blame for that?" He held out his hand to her. "I had no hope. You have shown me other possibilities. If you want to help." He smiled. "There may be a way for me to leave here, to get a foothold outside. You just need to want to let me in."

"Let you in?" Neira repeated. Her frown deepened. Something was wrong.

"Back! Help me back," Mouse said quickly. He crossed his arms over his chest. "They killed me, right? Just like all who fail in here." Anger crept into his voice, harsher with every word. "They'll kill you too. Can't you feel the sword at your neck? They believe all magic evil, the Fade evil. Once you are here, you become what they fear."

The mage stared at him. She felt cold, almost sick. "Like you." She took a breath, silently begging him to calm her fears. "Were you ever really an apprentice?"

"What?" Mouse started. "Yes! Of course! I mean, I think I was. Isn't that enough? It should be enough! For you."

Neira stepped back as his form grew and twisted.

"Maybe they are right about you." His voice had dropped considerably in pitch, and it was almost a growl. "Simple killing is a warrior's job. The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust… pride." He chuckled, and Neira wanted to scream, but sound wouldn't come. "Keep your wits about your, mage. True tests never end."

A bright flash of light blinded her. She heard voices, felt arms around her, and saw Cullen's eyes. Then the world went black and still.


End file.
